Six Signs of Submission (Desire Island 6)

“Drop the towel,” he said. “I want you naked.”

Again the briefest hesitation, but no protest. She hung her wet towel on a hook by the stall door. He stood, legs spread, hands on his hips, as Lainey inexpertly but gamely dried him off.

“You’re doing very well,” he praised her sincerely as he pulled her upright.

Submissive training—of which this evening’s experiment was the first step, though he didn’t want to scare her away by laying it out as such—was not about playing with a sub’s head in a particular scene to get your own rocks off.

Quite the opposite—it was a purposeful and mindful building of a new way of thinking and behaving, built slowly, with subtlety and care. With each surrender of her self-will and control, Lainey was offering him the gift of her submission. He wanted that gift to come from a place of knowledge and strength, freely given.

They returned to the bedroom. The sky had darkened outside the single window. The bed was neatly made, a bright yellow quilt tucked around the mattress. He noted the headboard with approval. It consisted of a metal and wood frame with a bar along the top—perfect for cuffing a pair of wrists, should their play move into bondage territory.

“Pull back the covers and lie in the middle of the bed on your back,” he directed.

Lainey obeyed, pulling down the quilt and the smooth, white sheet beneath it. She lay down, her head on the pillow, her eyes fixed on him.

He sat beside her. “Spread your legs. I want to see your pretty cunt.”

A pink flush rose over her face. She really was impossibly adorable. She drew in a breath, as if girding herself, which she probably was. It was ironic that she worked on an island where nudity was as commonplace as breathing, yet she continued to be so shy about her own body.

But then, he was asking more of her than just to be naked with him. Showing her cunt was clearly a submissive act for her, and that was all to the good. It was another small test at which she could succeed.

Closing her eyes, she spread her legs.

“Open your eyes,” he directed, placing a hand on her thigh.

She did so, fixing him with her gaze.

“Now, using your hands, spread your cunt lips. Arch your hips up so I can get a good view.”

“Jesus, Cooper,” she blurted, her blush deepening.

He placed two fingers quickly over her lips. “Shh,” he reminded her. “Would a gag be helpful, Lainey? Would that remove the temptation to disobey?”

“No,” she replied quickly, genuine fear in her eyes. “No way.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily. “Consider this a warning. Next words out of your mouth without permission, other than your safeword, and I’ll gag you.”

She said nothing.

“Now,” he repeated patiently, “lift your hips and spread your cunt lips. Show me your beautiful, perfect cunt.”

Still blushing, she obeyed, though her reluctance was palpable.

He leaned over her, his face close to her sex. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the spicy-sweet scent of her musk. Her little clit peeked out from its hood, the glisten of moisture on her labia.

Shifting on the bed, he crouched between her legs. “Keep your cunt open for me. I want to taste you.”

All at once, Lainey dropped her hands, her legs slamming together.

He glanced up at her face, frowning at her flagrant disobedience. Her lips were pressed together, a look of alarm on her face.

Something was up here. He needed to tread carefully. “Is there a problem, Lainey?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Don’t you like oral sex?”

“I… It’s just… I don’t…” she trailed off.

“What?” he asked gently.

“It’s hard for me. I—I don’t like men to… I’m not used to it. My last boyfriend didn’t like… He said it was…” Again she broke off her words.

“Here’s the thing,” Cooper said, still keeping his voice gentle, though adding a touch of steel beneath. “I get it that I’m pushing a little past your comfort levels. But, as you well know from your life experience, no real growth comes without some discomfort.”

He paused a moment, considering. He wanted to lick her sweet cunt until she howled with pleasure. It bothered him to think some asshole had put negative ideas into her head about her desirability. To Cooper, there was nothing lovelier or sexier than a woman’s cunt—end of story.

But, again, he wanted her to succeed tonight. He wanted to show her that submission wasn’t a trial, but a joy, when you were hardwired to receive it as such, which he was convinced she was. Maybe if he removed her accountability—giving her permission to feel what she felt without her hang-ups getting in the way?

“I have an idea,” he said, rising from the mattress and moving to his overnight bag. Unzipping it, he pulled out a pair of leather wrist cuffs, the double-sided clips already attached, along with a short length of chain. He also grabbed a couple of condom packets. Returning to the bed, he tossed the condoms onto her nightstand.